Cry
by Laura's Fantasia
Summary: "That's why I wish the teachers wouldn't say I should have tried earlier. Because I did. I've been trying all year, I just wasn't good enough. I tried, but I'm still not graduating." Brittany holds in the tears. 3x22 Goodbye spoilers, oneshot.


Cry

How am I supposed to tell her this?

Santana's going places. She's going to make something of herself, and I need to support her... but now I can't follow her.

I should have told her the day I found out. I was going to, that day. I went looking for her right after I left Miss Pillsbury's office.

"_Santana! Santana, wait up!"_

_I wanted to cry. I could feel the tears burning the insides of my eyes but I kept them there. I didn't want everyone to know how upset I was. That would make this worse. _

_She turned moodily, but then I watched her face light up immediately upon seeing me. That made me glad. That she smiled just because I was there. It made me feel warm inside. She hurried over, grabbed my hand and pulled me into our next classroom. We were unusually early, so no one else was there yet._

"_Brittany… I need to talk to you," she said, settling me down in my usual chair next to hers, then beginning to pace. I frowned, putting aside my worries for the time being. Santana was worried about something. And she still wasn't speaking, which meant she was especially worried._

"_What is it?" I prompted. _

_She took a deep breath, spinning on the sole of one foot to look at me again. _

"_I don't want to go to Louisville."_

_I blinked in surprise, and she rushed forward to drop down into the seat next to me, gathering up both my hands and holding them to her chest, looking across at me desperately. _

"_Please don't be mad, Brittany. I know you worked so hard to get me that scholarship, and I am so, _so_ grateful, but… I just…" She trailed off, biting her lower lip slightly as she watched for a reaction. _

_I blinked once more, then shrugged. _

"_So what do you want to do instead?"_

_She stared at me._

"_You're not mad?"_

_I shook my head. Yeah, I'd helped her get that scholarship. But a scholarship had never been the problem. The hard part, the thing I was most proud of, was getting her to see how much she could do if she set her mind to it. Before, she'd wanted to do something, sure. She just panicked when she didn't know what and avoided thinking about it completely. But now I'd see her looking up how to become a doctor or lawyer, or sometimes even how to get a recording contract, when she was sure her parents weren't about. She didn't want to get their hopes up, but that didn't matter at the moment. She wasn't scared of dreaming, now. And I knew she could do whatever she set her mind to. _

That night I'd thought about telling her again. But she'd started debating Louisville versus New York, and I couldn't bring up my problems for her to worry about as well when she had such an important decision to make.

I tried to fix it on my own. I stayed up for hours to study for my last tests. I'd gone to all my teachers and asked how I could get extra credit. They all looked at me weird, and some of them said it was a bit late to start trying now.

But didn't they get it? I _had _been trying! I'd been trying all year, and I'd been doing okay at first. But then Finn was stupid and outed Santana and everything went to hell, and other things became more important. When Santana's crying in my arms, of _course_ I'm going to look after her instead of going to class. When she's trying to ring her abuela again, I need to hold her and support her, and not bother her with my homework even when it's hard. None of the teachers get how hard I've been trying this year, to hold Santana together and go to Cheerios and Glee club and take my sister all over Ohio for her softball games and… I just ran out of time. Without Santana helping everything takes so much longer. If I stare at the work too long the words start to blur into each other and I get frustrated.

That's why I wish the teachers wouldn't say I should have tried earlier. Because I _did_. I've been trying all year, I just wasn't good enough. I tried, but I'm still not graduating.

So now I'm sitting in a restaurant with Santana and her mother, trying not to worry because I can't put off telling her any longer. Graduation is in a few days. I haven't even told my parents yet, because I can't tell them before I've told Santana. They're going to be so disappointed. I need to be able to go to her afterwards.

But not yet. This is Santana's dinner to tell her mother she doesn't want to go to Louisville. I'm not worried, I know she'll do great in New York. But her mom will be scared. She'll think of all the things that could go wrong; she'll think that college is safer.

I laugh when I'm supposed to at the recollection of Santana dressing up like that weird hair guy. I remember it too. But I can't concentrate properly on the conversation. I'm worrying about what Santana's mom will say about her going to New York, what Santana and my parents will say when I tell them I'm not graduating, and how I'm going to manage getting through another whole year at McKinley without Santana right next to me.

"I don't want to go to that cheerleading programme at the University of Lousiville. I want to go to New York."

I force my attention back to the table, watching Santana's mom for a reaction. My heart sinks when she immediately rejects the idea. I take a sip from my drink for something to do with my hands, dropping my eyes to the table and then across to Santana as her mom carries on talking about how she should go to college. I want to reach out and hug her, but then Santana's mom starts talking again.

"Brittany! I understand you've got into Purdue University?"

Oh god. Not this again. I can still remember Santana's incredulous, ecstatic expression when I told her I'd been accepted at Perdue, only to face her disappointment when I suddenly realised what she thought and had to explain. I hadn't even made the connection in my head until then. Now I wish I'd applied for a job anywhere else, so I didn't have to laugh it off every time someone thought I was going to the university. I'd only applied because they had jobs near Louisville. I knew I wouldn't get a scholarship. A job was the only way to follow Santana. But now it looked like I was going to be left behind anyway. They had positions in New York as well, but they wouldn't take me on if I hadn't graduated.

"Not the university, the poultry farm. Plucker is a steady profession," I reply as calmly as I can, pasting a smile on my face. Even the joke didn't help calm my nerves. I couldn't keep it in any longer. I can't keep pretending. I don't even pause before blurting it out, trying to sound as if I don't care even though it hurts so much to admit it. "But I can't go to either, because I'm not graduating."

I can feel Santana's eyes on me immediately.

"What?"

She's leaning closer, and I just want to turn and run away. I feel so sick inside, like I'm about to throw up. But I reply quickly, not knowing how else to deal with this except to brush it off.

"Yeah… I was kind of glad when I found out I was flunking because it gives me a chance to do my senior year all over again, and way better. I'll show up to my classes this time. Plus, I'll get to be a two-term senior class president," I respond, still with that fake smile, naming the only positive thing I've been able to find about having to go back to McKinley.

I stare determinedly down at my salad or across at Santana's mom. I can't look at Santana. The lump in my throat keeps growing.

"Why are you pretending that this is okay, and why didn't you tell me?" she demands.

I should have. I should have told her I wasn't coping with my classes the moment it had started, and then I wouldn't have to deal with her going off to Louisville or New York without me. But I know that wouldn't have been right. Santana had bigger problems. I'm her girlfriend, I'm supposed to support her when she has problems, not give her more to deal with.

Finally, I look at her.

"What did you think was gonna happen to me? I have a 0.0 grade point average."

Now she wouldn't even look at me. I guess that had been another bad joke. I return my gaze to my plate.

"Well, maybe if Brittany's staying in Lima then I should stay too."

I look up at Santana's mom, then at her. She's trying to smile. Trying to make the best of this. It makes me want to start crying all over again.

* * *

We're back at my house now. My parents are out at the moment but I know I'll have to tell them soon.

I'm lying on my back, Santana's arms cradling my head in her lap. I'm trying to be brave, trying not to let Santana see how upset I am. I think what hurts the most is that no one at school will be surprised. No one except Santana. They'll all just think it's because I'm stupid.

I know she wants to yell right now. She wants to shout and scream and demand to know why I didn't tell her sooner. If it was anyone else, she would. Instead, she's keeping me safe in her arms and not asking any questions, just helping me get ready for telling my parents later. But I don't think I'm doing very well at hiding how upset I am now it's just the two of us.

"Santana?" I whisper, staring past her face as it peers down at me and up at the ceiling.

"Hm?"

"I'm sorry," I murmur, trying to hold back to the tears. She leans in and I feel her lips press gently against my forehead. She stays there for a few moments before pulling back, tightening her arms around my shoulders. I snuggle into her, breathing her in so I can memorise the smell for when she's gone.

"You can't stay behind for me," I say after about five minutes of lying there in silence. She shifts immediately, and this time I do meet her eyes. "You're going to go to Louisville or New York, whichever you decide. And I'm going to go back to McKinley, and repeat my classes, and come join you the moment I can."

"Brittany, I can't go without you! The only reason I agreed to that crazy Perdue stuff was because you'd be with me, and I figured I could help you find a better job once we were there!"

I shake my head stubbornly. "I won't let you stay behind for another year because I messed up."

"But you didn't mess up, it's those idiot teachers!"

"Santana!"

She gulps, but I can feel how tense she still is.

"There's nothing I can do about it now. I've got to deal with it. But you don't. You're going. I'm not holding you back. I'll visit all the time – or skype, if you're in New York. I'll make you special Fondue for Two episodes telling you everything I've done so you don't miss out. I'll…" I take a deep gulp of air, blinking away the tears that threaten again. "I'll study so hard, I'll quit Cheerios and Glee if I have to, to m-make sure I can join you n-next year," I sniffle. My fingers clutch at her arms, trying to let her know that I'm not going to let anything keep us apart after this year. One year, that's all. Not even a full year – eight months, really. We still have three months until she leaves.

I hear the door slam downstairs and sit up suddenly, one hand flying to my face to wipe away the tears that had escaped despite my best efforts. It seems my best effort is never good enough lately. I feel Santana's hand thread into mine while the other reaches up to touch my cheek, gently turning my face to look at her.

"We'll talk about that later, okay?"

I nod, suddenly too scared to do anything else. This is it. I clutch at Santana's hand tighter.

* * *

She's gone. She's gone, and I'm back here, standing in front of McKinley. I always hated coming in alone when she was sick – whenever she ditched, I did too. But now I'm going to be on my own every day for the rest of the year. I don't even have Quinn, she left for Yale last week. I take a deep breath, then step inside.

Everything's different without her.

I walk up to my locker and fiddle with the combo for a whole minute before I realise that after ten seconds or so Santana would always lean over and do it for me, since the first day at McKinley when my hand was shaking too much from nerves to do it myself. It takes me five full minutes to open the locker I've had for four years, and I can feel the stares and snickers from people passing by. They recognise me. They know I should have graduated. They can see me struggling with my locker even more than the new freshmen.

All the sideways looks and nasty comments and laughter muffled by hands – or sometimes not – comes back to me. I stare into my locker, stare at the picture of Santana in her bright red cap and gown, and will myself not to cry. I won't. Not now, not here. When I get home I can. But I can't cry in front of all of these people who already think I'm a failure. When I'm ready, I push away from my locker, close it, and make my way to my first class.

I don't want to speak in class. I remember all the times that people would laugh when I tried to answer the question, and how the teachers told me I hadn't tried hard enough. It makes me want to not try just to spite them, to prove how much I really did try last year, but I can't. Because I have to get to Santana.

I can't get used to sitting in Glee Club without her in the room. It's like when she left for the Troubletones all over again, but worse because I can't join her. In Cheerios I can hear the other girls whispering, telling the new recruits how I flunked my classes because I was too busy fucking the bitchy head cheerleader. That makes me want to scream and shout and yell, but I don't. I hold in the tears again, and pretend I don't hear, and let Sue's new insults wash over me as we begin practice.

I get home, and I'm glad my parents aren't about and that my sister's not home yet. I take the stairs slowly, trying to prepare myself for when they ask how it went, and for skyping with Santana tonight. I enter my room and pull the books out of my bag, dropping them straight onto my bed so I can start studying now. I have to be ahead. I have to give myself as much time as possible.

I open the first book and begin reading about statistics. I only get halfway down the page before the words start to blur – but not like they usually do. I blink rapidly to try and get rid of the tears, but I've been holding them in all day and they won't go away this time. They start sliding down my cheeks and I gasp, trying to breathe as everything crashes in on me. All the names I've ever been called, all the insults that Santana assured me weren't true… I've gone and proved them right. Brittany S. Pierce, the girl too stupid to graduate high school.

I push my forehead into my pillow, and let myself cry.


End file.
